


The Arrangement

by StarkWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Again, Angst galore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cersei Lannister Lives, F/M, First and foremost Brienne is a dark place in this fic, Fix-It of Sorts, I am not over the mess D&D had made, I need therapy, It will take 8000 years of slowburn to fix what D&D did to Jaime and Brienne, Jaime Lannister Lives, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Like she is really dealing with a lot, Non-Linear Narrative, Show Canon Continuation, Slow Burn, Yes it has taken me this long and I am still not over it, also, angst fest, not Daenerys friendly, pregnant brienne, seriously slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkWolf/pseuds/StarkWolf
Summary: Not even a day old, Brienne’s daughter was beautiful in a way Brienne had never been, and seldom seen.Twice.She had only seen two such people to be carved from gold until her daughter.The first time Tyrion had held her daughter, he had closed his eyes as if she was the most painful sight he has ever set his eyes upon. It only seemed the Gods who had never particularly been in her favour would curse her more so, for her little, beautiful, breathtaking daughter looked exactly like her aunt who was once a queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Relationships: (Minor), (secondary), Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Podrick Payne & Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth, Tyrion Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, Very Minor You Need to Really Squint and Not Endgame
Comments: 94
Kudos: 218





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic, as the tags suggest, has Brienne in a really dark and depressing space in the beginning, and she acts out of character for the honorable, stoic woman we know. So proceed with caution. I am clearly not over the mess D&D had made with the last season even if it has been more than a year, so this is, ( cringe alert ) , yes, a show canon continuation and yes with a pregnant Brienne and my way of therapy. The narrative is nonlinear in the beginning and gets linear after the first four or five story points, I hope it won't be a terrible inconvenience. There is a lot of angst here, like in the beginning it is just dark and exploding with angst. This is an angst fest with possibly a happy ending, my own salvation, and a serious slow burn. But great if it can find any takers. Just to know I don't condone to the idea that Brienne would change as a person after Jaime left her, or motherhood is her salvation or any other canon typical sexist stuff, I have just tried to come to terms and reason with the show canon mess in my own little way. Not meant to be problematic in any way. But do feel free to openly criticize what you want.

**_Casterly Rock_ **

For all that she had been born from her womb, Brienne’s daughter held none of her.

Her skin was gilded, her eyes were a deep forest green, the mop of her hair was smooth curled gold.

Not even a day old, Brienne’s daughter was beautiful in a way Brienne had never been and seldom seen.

_Twice. She had only seen two such people to be carved from gold until her daughter._

The first time Tyrion had held her daughter, he had closed his eyes as if she was the most painful sight he has ever set his eyes upon. It only seemed the Gods who had never particularly been in her favour would curse her more so, for her little, beautiful, breathtaking daughter looked exactly like her aunt who was once a queen of the seven kingdoms.

Except when she curls up her little lips in contentment as Brienne disentangles her from her teats, it cuts like a knife.

**_Winterfell_ **

_“Stay with me. Please.”_

Brienne flinches at her own words echoed at her, and then at how hollow and helpless she feels as Lady Sansa uses the same phrasing for her that she has meant for another, a lifetime back.

“Your child will be a Stark, a Stark of Winterfell. Take some more time to make your decision Brienne, I urge you.”

“Except the child is a Lannister.” Brienne manages to smile but it stretches thin, she means to jape at that inopportune moment. “As if a Targaryen brought up as an almost Stark has not wrought enough sorrow on all involved as it is.”

Sansa blanches as if she had physically wounded her.

“A wrong thing to jape about, My Lady, forgive me.”

She had collected more than one bad habit from the past, it would seem.

It isn’t until the next morning as she notices Tyrion’s heavily clouded yet impossibly tender gaze pinning Sansa and her stoic expression betrayed only by the stormy emotions fleeting through her Tully blue eyes as she avoided Tyrion, she ruminates maybe her decision _did_ demand more time.

In alarm, Brienne looks for Podrick, but his head is bowed down in unmistakable sadness.

Alas, it was too late.

_And how many more people must suffer because one cold night in Winterfell she reached out for what wasn’t hers?_

**_King’s Landing -I_ **

Grief is a terrible companion. It only begets more grief.

“I am to birth a child at the turn of a few moons. The babe is a Lannister.” Her voice is surprisingly cold for how on the edge she feels.

Tyrion almost chokes on his wine. Looks at her with his oddly unsettling mismatched eyes. It reminds her of… no one in particular.

“And you are sure of this?” his low voice is a menace, but not unkind.

“My Lord, do you think I would jape about something such as this?” She fights to keep the caustic tone off her voice, for if she falters, she is lost.

She would never lose to a Lannister ever again, even when one is growing inside of her.

“No. Lady Brienne. You _never_ jape.” Tyrion replies sourly.

“Very well, I presume you would like to retire to Tarth then, I will have a word with the King. The child would of course be legitimized as a Tarth, needless to say. To the new Evenstar then.” He raises his chalice in false amusement, his voice oddly devoid of emotion.

He is seething in anger, she can see through him, see him for what he is, for she is the same.

It only makes her want to rattle him more. Why must she suffer alone? If she is condemned by The Gods for loving Jaime Lannister, so must be Tyrion. Both their hands are bloody of the same crime.

“I wouldn’t have told you of it if the child was to be raised as the Evenstar. I would repeat myself for your aid, My Lord. I am to birth a child at the turn of a few moons. The babe is a Lannister. The heir to Casterly Rock. Raise your toast by all means to your future liege Lord or Lady, if you must.”

Tyrion bristles openly at that, and it is as satisfying as the sound of Oathkeeper slashing through skin.

And then his face hardens.

“Very well, My Lady, here’s to the Imp and the Maid of Tarth’s holy matrimony then, may our union be blessed in the Light of the Seven. To the dwarf and the Giant. I never thought it would get as comically ridiculous as this, but life keeps surprising you.”

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws_

It is in that exact moment that she knew she has lost to a Lannister yet again.

“I am glad this situation amuses you.” She loses her hard-fought-for composure at the terrible insinuation, except she is afraid it isn’t an insinuation at all. She is proven right.

“Except that I meant it in earnest, My Lady, the future Lord or Lady of Casterly Rock must be a ward of the current Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock, it seems you have forgotten that is how it works.”

“Tyrion” she warns him.

“Rail against the Gods at your misfortune if you must Brienne, but I will not let an innocent child suffer the fate to be called the honorless Kingslayer’s spawn by his whore.” Tyrion spat out then, all semblance of sanity forgone.

The first time someone had called her _that_ Brienne had bled, as if the opponent had found the chink in her mail and shoved their blade right through it. And in an evening as gloomy as this Tyrion had stretched out in his seat by the fire, looked into her eyes and said “Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” It was amusing how much she had taken his words to her heart, for when he says it now, she doesn’t even blink an eye.

“As opposed to being the child of a man who is a paragon of virtue such as you.” Brienne almost laughs.

“No. But a man who is not Jaime Lannister.”

“I don’t get why _you_ are so angry that he is dead when you knew he would be exactly that the time you set him free.”

“So you would have me had him burnt to ashes instead? I took a fighting chance. I failed. I will not regret it. And I will not have you question me for it. I have made my best offer Lady Brienne, the heir to Casterly Rock must be the heir to the established heir of Casterly Rock. Take it or leave.”

“Then I agree” and she knows, knows, knows in her heart she has disarmed him as she turns to leave.

_And mine are long, and sharp My Lord, as long and sharp as yours_

**_King’s Landing –II_ **

The only person she felt she remotely owed to relay her decision to was Lady Sansa given Arya wasn’t here.

She is to leave for Winterfell on the morrow, and as she lies awake like all other nights, she thinks how much simpler times were when all she was devastated and insecure about was how she looked, all she had cried herself to sleep about was Septa Roelle’s harsh words. When all she owed sleepless nights to was Renly’s ghost, and then Lady Catelyn’s.

She doesn’t discredit her grievances and horrors, doesn’t rank them in definitive order.

Except she doesn’t know how to fill the hollow and the grief about failing to protect the one man she had loved carelessly and ridiculously consummately.

Brienne understands she is worth more than this. Worth more than spiraling into a vicious cobweb of rage and sorrow so much so that she only feels a skeleton of the person she was once.

When honor had been her guiding light, and she wielded duty as well as she wielded Oathkeeper. When Jaime was the love of her life only from afar, when she didn’t know the feel of his skin against her, the heat of his breath on the crook of her neck, or the wretched cold he has left in his wake when he rode off to King’s Landing to die.

She had kept it together for enough days until she had fallen apart.

They say grief is binding, yet when she had stumbled upon Tyrion on her first night in King’s Landing navigating through the ruins of the Red Keep with Jaime’s golden hand in his palms and tears streaking down his face, she had hated him with such malice for taking even this from her, it has battered her already bitter soul.

She had hated Tyrion for having a last moment with his brother when she couldn’t.

She had hated him because she wanted to blame him for her misfortune, for Jaime being dead, but she couldn’t because it wasn’t his fault. At least Tyrion had tried at the cost of his own life, Brienne couldn’t say the same for herself.

And she had hated him when she had clutched at her cloak with his hands and pleaded her to move on because “Jaime would have wanted so.”

Jaime had gotten to do all he wanted all his life. He had fought when he wanted, he had fucked when he wanted, he had loved when he wanted and he had left when he wanted. He wouldn’t have any say on her life from the grave.

So instead she had let the agony and the malice and the sorrow fester until it swept her off and consumed her whole. And in that, she had bound Tyrion to her.

She hated Tyrion, except she didn’t, she couldn’t. They had formed a connection at Winterfell, of being outcasts, and for the love of a man only the both of them knew. And when Jaime had gone ahead and died, she had been bound to him by the grief.

 _Good._ She had thought as she had disguised her fondness of him under a veil of an antagonistic relationship.

Because all that it was, it was not hard to dislike Tyrion as Jaime’s brother, the only other person apart from her who had truly seen the light of Jaime’s soul, who didn’t believe him to be so completely hateful, if only self destructive. As Tyrion now is. As Brienne now is.

They both didn’t know what to do with their grief, and this inability had only made them hurt themselves and each other with barbs and words.

_“If only you were half as vicious as you think you are, maybe he would have stayed”_

_“Not many outfits suit you, Lady Brienne, but the look of a widow of a disgraced Kingsguard is by far the worst”_

_“Do you fancy yourself a Lannister with all this new-found maliciousness Ser Brienne?”_

Tyrion would say anything to get through her armor, she knew, so that she can finally hurt and weep and move on. The Lannisters had a twisted sense of kindness, but as always, it wasn’t what she needed.

She needed to fuel her agony to make her into something she was not. So that she rages more and hurts less. And like every oath she has ever sworn, she had seen it fulfilled.

 _Then_ she had fallen pregnant.

When Sam kindly confirmed the news to her, more nervous than she was, Brienne had hurried up to her quarters in urgent strides, packed her belongings, ready to leave for Tarth in the dead of the night without any explanation until she stopped in the middle of her chambers, rooted to the spot, her entire body shaking.

No. Her child will not be shamed on her or their father’s account.

Her child will bear what it would be as a badge of honor – A Lannister. Even if it devastates Brienne in the process. She must pay the price for her misguided love for a man, but her child wouldn’t.

The babe will be legitimized as a Lannister because it is who he or she is, no matter she and Jaime never said the vows. The child will not be punished for her carelessness, it will not hide in shadows, or beyond the tall cliffs of Tarth, she cannot, for wherever she will go, Jaime’s ghost will follow. It was a lost cause from when their eyes have met in the Riverlands.

So she had gone to Tyrion to break the news.

And had come back as the future Lady of Casterly Rock.

Tyrion would be her husband in name, she blanches at how horrifyingly amusing the thought is. If she could fathom feeling anything romantic ever for any man far, far into the future, Tyrion wouldn’t be that even if she and him were the only two people alive.

At most he was her friend, at worst he was her dead lover’s brother.

She would not lie to herself and say that she hadn’t felt a twinge of brotherly affection and love towards him because of their odd kinship, but that was the thought of the woman she is in moments when her pain doesn’t swallow her whole.

 _It does hurt less like this_ , she amuses.

But what hurts more? Hurting more or not hurting anymore?

**_Casterly Rock II_ **

In the end, only ( of course ) Lady Sansa sailed to the Rock for a wedding that doesn’t take place.

Ser Podrick has stayed in Kings Landing protecting King Bran, because Brienne left him there.

Brienne and Tyrion both know enough to not dignify their terrible arrangement with a ceremony.

“I am wondering who we are fooling, nobody will believe that we are actually married. You know that right?” she chides Tyrion.

“Nobody actually cares. The realm has suffered enough to pay a dime about who is the new Lady of Casterly Rock. But it will by the time the child comes to the world, when there is not much death and destruction left to recover from.”

Brienne scoffs.

It is just the three of them crowded in a circle amidst a garish, ostentatious, extravagant room in Casterly Rock. Brienne hates the red and gold.

“My Lady” Tyrion says to Sansa, voice heavy with undercurrent, Brienne knows, “I thought it would be hard to beat the sham my last wedding night was, but here we are.”

“Here we are” Sansa smiles and raises her chalice to Tyrion’s, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Speaking of which you both haven’t annulled your marriage yet. “ Brienne says, feigning amusement.

“Trust me when I say this Ser Brienne, everybody who attended that wedding except us is dead. It was quite a marriage as it is.” Tyrion lets out a lowly chuckle.

“Yes. Yet you both found affection in it.” Brienne says and is met with an alarming silence.

“Brienne…” Sansa implores after the dangerous moment has passed.

“I might be a changed woman, My Lady. But I would presume I wasn’t as far gone as for you not to confide me with this, I would have never, I would _never_ have you suffer on my account Lady Sansa.” Brienne knows she is dangerously close to weeping after what feels like years.

“Brienne…” Sansa takes her face in her dainty, pretty hands.

“You wanted your child to be a Lannister. There was no other way. In the end, for what you have done for me, for my family, it was a small price to pay.”

“My sword didn’t come at a price. My oaths didn’t come at a price. I had two friends left in the world. And now in the end, even they have betrayed me. ” she disentangles herself from Sansa quick and swift.

Tyrion had remained distinctly quiet through the exchange, now he had hung his head in shame.

“My Lord, My Lady, what I ask of you today, you must give me, consider it a bride’s gift” Brienne composes herself, her voice steady.

“The three of us in this room know that there has been no wedding, no vows to be broken. You are both still very much man and wife, take whatever happiness in each other while you can before duty tears you apart. I for one, know what it is to lose what you love. Don’t suffer the same fate by will. It is all I ask of you.” With that, she stands up and leaves the room.

The next morning, there is a twinkle in Tyrion’s eyes after a long time, and Sansa is positively radiant if a little bashful.

Good. Brienne thinks. Someone should enjoy a bedding night.

**_Casterly Rock III_ **

“I want to name her Cersei, for her good aunt. She looks exactly like her as it is.” she tells Tyrion as she clutches the babe to her chest. The babe makes a gurgling noise at that, and she cannot gulp away the love and longing she feels looking at the babe.

“Lady Brienne, let’s have this discussion at my solar once you have put my little niece to sleep.” Tyrion tells her.

There is a lot of things wrong with that statement, but Brienne is simply too taken by the little bundle of unabashed innocence in her arms to hover over Tyrion’s words.

Later when she does visit him, he is addled by the wine, looking forlornly at the fire.

“Brienne, come here”

She doesn’t know why but she responds in kind and kneels down before him. He reaches out for her hand.

“You have punished yourself enough for surviving. You have punished yourself enough for loving a man who wasn’t yours to love. As have I. But this ends now. “ Tyrion breathes, his voice is weepy.

Brienne releases a shaky breath herself.

“I have entertained all the facets of your grief, Ser Brienne, for it was mine to bear on Jaime’s account. It was what I owed for the love I bore him, and the love you bore him, no matter the ruin it had left behind in its absence. But this gets over now. You know what you are Brienne much as you pretend otherwise, you are an honorable woman, a knight of the legends, the warrior Maid of Tarth. The old world is done away with. Your babe is a child of a Spring we never thought we would live to see. She’s a blessing from the Gods. You will not taint her or yourself with the past anymore. Weep if you must and then let it go, I beg of you Brienne.”

It was all too much. She fell apart. Days of the birthing bed has taken its toll on her, and she knew she has emerged a new woman from it. She could never muster enough grievances when she glanced at the babe’s face for the first time no matter who she looked like, happiness has bloomed intensely and silently in her chest all at once, and she has felt her fortress crumbling around her. Motherhood weakens you as much as it strengthens you. And sometimes there is strength in breaking down, there is relief, she feels it as she cries her heart out in front of the fire.

Later Tyrion tells her, “Let her know her ancestral home. Let her know Tarth. Let her know the North. Let her know family. She is Jaime’s. But she is also yours. From the Stormlands to Winterfell, from Casterly Rock to Riverlands, the kingdom sings songs of your glory, the babe will be celebrated across Westeros. Let her know the tales of your valor, and Jaime’s. Let her know the love of her kin like we never have. Let her know me, Sansa, Arya, Podrick. Let her know Jaime for what he was. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Yes” she nods frantically. “Yes” .

My child will know love like I never have.

“You can leave whenever you want.”

“Tyrion… I want her to know her Father. I want her to know Jaime and where he grew up. We will not leave now.” Her throat has bled out from her earlier tears, yet it is now that her voice rings familiar in her own ears, a woman she once was coming back to her, her response was swift.

“Nothing would please me more as you well know, would you have me write to Podrick or would you rather do it yourself? You know he misses you.”

Yes. Another collateral damage of her sea of grief, Brienne has alienated herself so much, Podrick hasn’t known what to do. She thought she was doing him a kindness when she snapped on the thread that connected them, but the boy looked crestfallen.

_No more._

She pledges to herself.

“Yes. Write to Podrick. Write to Sansa. Tell them I have birthed a daughter. Tell them I would name her Joanna, after her grandmother.”

Tyrion’s eyes are glassy when she leaves.

**_Casterly Rock IV_ **

All her life, Brienne has known she would be a terrible Mother.

People in her life had told her sword fighting and motherhood don’t mix well, but clearly they haven’t known much about either. They are more alike than different.

Doting on her daughter comes as easily to her as wielding a blade, and she is usually left happily exhausted and satisfied after fussing about little Joanna through the day as she might have after a day on the battlefield.

Brienne hasn’t known such an easy, effortless love could exist except between a warrior and their blade. A love between a Mother and her child is all the more exhilarating.

Not that Joanna has any dearth of love.

It was a good decision after all, to come to Casterly Rock, she thinks as she watches Tyrion with her daughter. He fawns over her as even Brienne doesn’t.

By the time Joanna celebrates her third nameday, she has gotten a closet full of tailor-made dresses ( bearing Lannister sigil, Tarth sigil, Direwolf sigil ) Ladies (and even Lords, given she has strictly advised her household to let her wear what she likes, breeches and gowns alike ) of the most illustrious houses of Westeros would envy of. For a child of barely three, Joanna possesses more than a score of gold earrings, a hundred variety of gold necklaces, even a little golden sword. A golden lion sits perched at her bedstand. Sapphires, diamonds, emeralds, and everything a Lannister can buy with Lannister riches adorns her bedchamber.

Joanna of course, cares about the toy wolf Sansa had sewn her and the stories Uncle Tyrion rewards her with more than anything, but anything shiny ( and not shiny ) that catches Little Joanna’s fancy lies in her grasp by the morn.

Brienne berates Tyrion but doesn’t fault him for it, gold is how the Lannisters show love. She has grudged him enough, she will not grudge him this. It is more for his sake, than Joanna’s.

_Different people seek salvation in different ways._

Like Sansa who coos stories of family and love, of winter and wolves in Joanna’s ears when she visits, long after the child has drifted to sleep. Stories of Ned Stark, Of Lady Catelyn, Robb, Bran, and Rickon. Of Jon and Arya. She misses them the most, Brienne knows. Brienne knows what it is to survive a Winter together in the halls of Winterfell and then being left in the cold alone entails.

“Remember, little Jo, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. ” Sansa says in her honeyed voice, but it catches in her throat, as she wraps Brienne’s daughter in a wolf pelt.

_Another priceless nameday gift._

“Me no wolf, me a lion.” Joanna replies a little sadly even as she is visibly as fascinated by the pelt as she has been with the toy wolf.

“You are a lion. And you are a wolf. Lady Sansa is your pack.” Brienne interjects from the doorway.

Joanna beams at that and Sansa kisses her head through tears that freely fall down her porcelain skin and takes her leave.

So many stories little Joanna grows up on, but her favorite is that of a quest of the awkward Lady Knight and her awkward Squire roaming around Westeros to restore two wolf daughters to their home.

The said squire is also Joanna’s favorite subject for torment.

Brienne had lost count the number of times she has stumbled upon Podrick red-faced and fumbling about how Joanna had run away while he was in charge, how she had hidden behind a pillar while he had stormed the castle looking for her, how she had assaulted him with eggs from the kitchen, and numerous such tales.

Again she has taken to berating Tyrion for it, but neither his nor his niece’s antics have ceased. She would have taken strict measures, but one evening Podrick has confessed after one too many glasses of wine that he enjoys it more than any of the other parties involved.

Podrick is of a marriageable age by now. Once she had repeatedly cajoled him to seek out a life of his own.

But the lad had loved Tyrion, and he had loved her, and now he loves Little Jo. And every time Brienne has initiated this conversation with him a sadness and resignation has loomed over his eyes. She had loathed that look. So she has seldom spoken of it after that.

Podrick is old enough to make his own decisions. She would trust him with it.

As Joanna’s fourth nameday approaches, the gloomy halls of Casterly Rock resonate with mirth and ringing laughter, and Brienne knows she isn’t as much of a terrible mother she thought she would be.

**_Casterly Rock V_ **

Once she has let go of the inferno that has been building inside of her, Brienne realizes how terribly she misses Jaime.

Podrick swings a blow at her, she misses, and she can hear his condescending chuckles flowing through the air.

She dresses up in gowns for Joanna’s fancies in the privacy of her bed-chamber and she can see him doubling off in laughter by the edge of the bed.

A cutting remark here.

A slash of the sword there.

On terribly lonely nights, it’s his breath ghosting over her skin.

On warm evenings by the fireplace, he nudges the soft skin behind her ears with his nose and a shiver goes down her spine as they exchange tall tales by the dying embers.

When she unfurls Oathkeeper from where she has carefully kept it hidden and softly caresses the sharp steel, she can feel his palm closing in on her fist.

With every passing day, she hates him a little less and forgives him a little more.

The love never withers; it stays the same as it always had.

“It’s time.” Tyrion remarks at her one fine morning, she doesn’t know what has propelled him to do so. Maybe Joanna had called him father ( they both know they have secretly dreaded that day for Tyrion is the only father figure she will ever know ), mayhaps it’s an off chance comment by a kitchen maid, she doesn’t know what, she only trusts Tyrion’s judgment.

That night Tyrion, Podrick, and Brienne go together to put Joanna to sleep.

“Stoieeees” Joanna says as she claps her hands excitedly and attacks Tyrion.

Tyrion has always been the most eloquent of the family. So by an unspoken agreement, Brienne lets him tell her.

He begins the story. A story that must remain a secret, Tyrion tells little Jo. Tells her he is not her father, he is her Uncle Tyrion, but nobody must know so. Otherwise they will make fun of her. And he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of his precious little Jo. Mama, Uncle Tyrion, Pod, and Sansa love Little Jo very, very much. And they will be very, very hurt if Jo is hurt. So she must keep the promise.

Joanna nods her head frantically, reaches out for him and Mama and Pod with her chubby little hands and promises many, many, many times that she will guard the secret like the Dragon guarded the Princess in the tower.

Then Tyrion gifts her with stories of her father, how he was a golden summer knight come alive out of tales, a savior for a monstrous little dwarf who once lived in these very halls. Stories of a mad king, stories of bears and dragons, lady knights, and ice zombies swarming. They leave the hard parts out for later. When she grows old Joanna will know her father for the man he was, right doings and wrongdoings notwithstanding, but not today.

Long after they are gone as Brienne hums a forgotten lullaby into Joanna’s silken gold hair she asks her father’s name.

“ _Jaime. His name was Jaime_.” Brienne whispers into her ears.

When Joanna peers up at her with those green eyes in the dark, she could swear it was Jaime instead, eyes shining with secret mirth.

**_Casterly Rock VI_ **

If Brienne has known one thing in her life, it is that happiness runs its course out.

The unease creeps up on her on a sweaty night in her and Jo’s bed. She can’t put her finger on it.

When she goes to spar on the grounds the next day, she carries Oathkeeper with her, just so it can soothe her mind as she grabs the lion hilt, desperate to feel its familiar presence in her palms.

Later she will know it to be a mistake.

She instructs the boys distractedly. Refuses a chance of a bout. Seldom has that happened.

So when a servant comes running to her about some guests who have arrived and how she needs to be there, _now,_ Brienne was buzzing with ominious anticipation, her heart in her mouth.

_Let Jo be safe._

She prays to all the Gods she has once abandoned _. I ask for nothing more_.

_Let Jo be safe._

She pleads, begs, desperate in despair as she quickens her pace into the long corridors of the house, climbing up the stairs two at a time, a familiar route through the kitchens that gives in to the destination.

_Let Jo be safe._

She thinks as she flings open the huge door on the corner of the Main Hall.

She sees her daughter first, before anything else. There stands Jo, looking curiously up at something, someone, _two people_.

Brienne stops frozen as three identical pair of forest green eyes shoot at her.

Her stomach drops, the floor beneath her feet gives away, she staggers backward.

For all they are alive, Jaime and Cersei look the part of the ghosts that they are.

“Mama!” Joanna exclaims at her.

_Yes. Happiness runs its course out. Always._

Brienne knows now as Jaime’s alive gaze bores into her, her hand grasping Oathkeeper’s pommel where his eyes follow, her knuckles whiten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense encounter follows as Brienne and Tyrion face Jaime and Cersei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are going to be shorter henceforth.

The moment is frozen in silence. The hall for all its monstrosity closes around Brienne’s throat.

Until.

_Crash_

The reverie is broken.

Wine spills down the pristine carpets of Casterly Rock, sullying it dirty.

Brienne follows the red trail to Tyrion’s palm, the shards of glass continues to ceaselessly make it a bloody mess.

She stares at it, entranced, unable to look at what lies in front of her, afraid the sight will burn her alive.

Tyrion mumbles something unintelligible. She would have sworn she heard it, only it doesn’t register. She fights to pay attention.

“Tyyionn”  
  
It is Joanna again that breaks the spell she has fallen under as she rushes to her Uncle.

“You. Hurt. Hand cut.”

It seemed the girl had the same effect on Tyrion, for he shifts his gaze to her and steadies himself.

And now, Brienne has to do the same for herself, for herself, and for Joanna.

She braces herself. Closes her eyes.

_Father give me strength. For Joanna._

She opens her eyes to look at them now, again.

The curse that has fallen over her seems to have Jaime and Cersei in its grasp as well, for they stare at Joanna like she is the ghost and not them.

Brienne wishes she could whisk the little girl away somewhere so far, so far, so they would _never, ever_ set their sight on Jo again.

Her feet moves of her own accord, she moves in their line of sight, distracting them from looking at her daughter.

Tyrion seems more sensible of the lot, she can hear his broken voice behind her feigning normalcy, feigning sweetness. Had she not known it herself, even she could be oblivious to the pain that laces his throat.

“ Jo, my sweetling, I am fine, but I have a big task for you now. I need you to be the good, good girl that you are, find Podrick and be at your bedchamber until Mama comes to get you. Okay?”

Later she would have to thank Tyrion with all her heart for saying what she couldn’t and getting Joanna out of there but she remains still as a statue pinned under Jaime’s gaze.

_How dare a dead man do this to her ?_

Joanna rushes off, she assumes, the silence stretches as her little footsteps leave a resonating echo through the hall.

Tyrion takes wobbly, shaky steps, comes and stands beside her, trembling with rage and takes a deep breath.

“Get.Out.” he says softly but menacingly, takes Brienne’s hand and starts to drag her away.

She would have liked nothing more than to go away except her feet feels like stone.

“Who is she?” Cersei speaks in a low, melodious, innocent voice that looms with heavy foreboding as if she had not heard what Tyrion just said. She is still looking in the direction Joanna went.

For all that her crown of once golden hair is as brittle as Brienne’s own, and the humble rags she is dressed in, she stands as straight as a queen should, except her voice falters.

Tyrion lets go of her hand. Straightens himself and looks at Cersei in the eye.

“I believe I just told you to _get the fuck out of here_.” He grits out.

“Who is the child? Why does she look like Myrcella?” Cersei raises her voice a notch and Brienne’s hands go ice-cold at the mention.

“Who do you think she is sister?” Tyrion snarls at her, his own voice getting louder.

Cersei doesn’t dignify Tyrion with a response again as she spins on her feet, grabs Jaime by his arm, nails digging into his thinning muscles and bones, as if she would draw blood.

Brienne flinches. Her eyes sting.

“You thought. That this monstrous Imp. Would help us. He would stab us in the back the moment we walk away and decorate these halls with our heads.” Cersei punctuates her sentence while gritting her teeth in rage.

Jaime, Jaime that she once loved, Jaime who looks more than half a corpse now, with grey splattering his golden hair, dark, gaping, hollows under his eyes, dressed like a beggar roaming the streets, yet breathtakingly beautiful, jerks Cersei's hand away, moves his gaze from Brienne, closes his eyes, and lowers his head.

“Tyrion. Please. Listen to me once. Then we will be on our way.” His voice catches in his throat, he takes a breath before looking at his brother and continuing, “I come here bearing important news, I..I.. wouldn’t have set foot here otherwise.”

If she breaks a little more hearing the sound of the voice she never thought she would hear again, ever in her life, Brienne doesn’t show.

Neither does Tyrion.

_All this time. All these tiny and momentous things that she has grieved about this man every day for four long years. All false. All illegitimate. All for nothing._

“Very well. Spit it out. Then leave. Stop tempting me to go through with what she just said.” Tyrion points at Cersei and barks.

“It’s not…I cannot. We need to speak in private.” Jaime implores Tyrion, his breaths getting heavier.

Tyrion takes his face in his hands. Releases a deep breath and then looks at her, eyes begging for permission. She nods her head in slight.

To their credit, the twins remain silent at their exchange.

Tyrion wordlessly turns around, strides across the space of the room, and starts mounting the stairs which lead to his solar. Brienne follows. She pretends her life hasn’t been upended in seconds and the man she has loved and lost and mourned like a widow, the man who has tediously taught her love over long, long years until she didn't know so much as to breathe without thinking of him, the man who has been the first and last to enter her and light her aflame, who had murmured sweet nothings into her ear in her meager dreamy chamber at Winterfell after they have fought the dead side by side and prevailed and then left her wrecked, dust, snowfall and her broken heart at his wake , the man who is the father of her beautiful, golden child, isn't the man that follows her with shaky footsteps along with his sister lover trailing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More answers come up next chapter. Tyrion and Brienne get uncomfortable tidings. Brienne faces off with Jaime and Cersei. A course for the future is determined.  
> English is not my first language. Pardon the mistakes.  
> This fic is unbeta'ed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime brings unhappy news. Decisions are made. Cersei learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters added. New tags added.

“Daenerys Targaryen lives.” Jaime tells Tyrion as soon as they bolt the door to Tyrion’s solar.

The silence pierces through the room.

Brienne would say she was surprised had her own apparitions from the past wouldn’t have been the harbinger of the tidings.

“You have seen her? Alive?” is the first thing she says since the whole ordeal has begun.

Jaime seems as surprised to hear her voice as she seems when she finds it.

He looks at her and nods his head solemnly.

Tyrion exhales.

“We were… Cersei and I… We sailed for Pentos. We were both badly hurt, I thought I would bleed to death but..” he takes a sharp breath, his voice unsteady, shaking, “The boatsman…he had some thread and needle, he sewed the wounds up, he also took us to Rosby first and found us a healer, I was drifting in and out of consciousness. I don’t remember much to be honest.”  
  
For her part, she believed it only an extension of the Seven’s apathy for her that she couldn’t find their bodies in the ruins, but so haven’t many, many others who lost their loved ones in the carnage. Flesh, blood, ash and bricks were mangled alike in the rubbles of the Red Keep, no ways to find out which is which. When Tyrion found the golden hand, it was souvenir enough for both of them, both of them earnestly eager to be embraced by the tragedy, they didn’t look further.

_Mistake._

_So many mistakes._

“The babe?” Tyrion turns to Cersei.

“Lost. Bled out. After Jaime left for the North.” Cersei replies softly, tears pool at the brink of her eyes, she looks away.

_It makes Brienne want to howl._

Tyrion takes a deep breath and looks at Jaime expectantly.

“I survived. _Against all odds_. We sailed to Essos from Rosby in the dark of the night. The situation at Westeros had also put Essos on edge. Followers of the Dragon Queen mourned her when news of her assassination reached the shores. Riots broke out in the previous slave cities. Meereen, Slaver’s Bay, Yunkai. We couldn’t take the risk of being identified, even though I left the inconspicuous gold hand behind, so we flitted from one city to another, Braavos, Lorath, Lys, Qohor and back. I worked at local forges in some cities, was taken in by Essosi merchants for short-tenured jobs in some others. Someone told us about spotting a large black and red dragon in the skies over, but that was all that was. Three years passed away. We sailed to Meereen in search of brighter prospects. The trades were flourishing there, a man in Braavos told us, the wine merchants looking for more and more people, we could find something permanent there. We did. A local brothel keeper arranged for us to stay in a nearby tavern in exchange of some coins that I earned. Days passed. It started with whispers, soft, urgent, suspiciously traded between fish wives and local shopkeepers that eventually turned to a mountain of murmured secrets. Of the Dragon Queen waking from dead after three long years. Of red priestesses resurrecting her. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then there were red priests or priestesses gathering at every corner, telling followers of R’hllor the story of how Daenerys Targaryen had returned from the dead to avenge herself, how the fire god himself had protected the daughter of fire, and how she is biding her time to take back what belonged to her with fire and blood. In a while, it was all everyone talked about. Uneasy incidents began to occur. Slavers who rose back to power in the interim were all found dead, burnt to ashes, inside the great pyramid of Meereen. Same happened in Yunkai. In Astapor. And then.” He pauses, “It was a hard day at work when I was returning. Everyone alike clambered on their feet, were in a rush, to the port, I followed them. A chaos descended on the city till a sudden hush fell over it. A deathly quiet. And there it was, distant in the sky, a black dot that grew larger and larger and larger still, until it spread its large black wings. I knew what it was. I remembered spotting the dread in the field of fire at the Battle of Blackwater Rush. It, and the rider it held, white hair billowing in the dark sky. I…I didn’t wait for it to come closer. I rushed back. We took the next ship and sailed to Dorne across the narrow sea. We would have sailed to Kings Landing directly, but I heard at the port of Dorne that you have resigned as your place as the Hand and .. and.. have retired to Casterly Rock as the Lord, they say you have a wife…” Jaime gulps.

Tyrion stares at his brother. A thousand emotions fleeting through his eyes. His jaw tightens.

“Ah! Yes. Meet the Lady of Casterly Rock, Ser Brienne of Tarth, my beloved wife. I would have given her a more illustrious introduction, because she deserves one but I believe you are already acquainted with her many,many feats.”

It looked like someone has knocked the winds out of Jaime’s lungs.

_She would have raged at Tyrion herself hasn’t she known the strange satisfaction that comes in combating hurt with hurt._

Jaime’s breaths grow heavy and a deadly silence follows until Cersei bursts out laughing, nearly hysterical.

“You have truly outdone yourself brother, no, you truly have!!! I have known your many, many perverted proclivities over the years, but this… I daresay… it’s wild even for you!!!” Cersei almost tears up while laughing.

“Enough” Jaime roars at Cersei.

“Tyrion. That was a tasteless jape.” Jaime’s eyes narrow down at his brother. He acts as if Cersei is not there.

_Like that is ever possible. Cersei existed in every breath of space Jaime has ever occupied. Even in their bed in Winterfell, like a specter._

“It would have been, had I japed.”

Jaime had the galls to look at her, astonished, his jaw slackened. She stares at him back, unflinching, defiant.

_And who are you, the proud Lord said, that I must bow so low?_

“Lady Brienne, many, many good wishes on your wedding” Cersei walks up to her, “Was that… The child? Is she yours? Such a beautiful little girl. You must be thanking your stars for the grace of Lannister family traits. Who could think, a dwarf and someone such…statuesque as you… “

That was all it took to steel her spine. She turned around to face Cersei.

“My Lady, first things first, you will address me as Ser Brienne for I am an anointed knight. The child you saw is my daughter indeed, by Ser Jaime Lannister, your twin, not by Lord Tyrion, but she is a legitimized Lannister of Casterly Rock, the future liege lady of the Westerlands, and if you ever so much as try to insult me or Lord Tyrion again in my presence, you will not walk away from this castle alive. You have my word for it. You don’t know me that well My Lady, but everyone else in this room knows what my word means. I don’t rejoice in making empty threats.” She replies to Cersei politely.

For a second pure venom clouds Cersei’s eyes, the poison in it would have made her skin crawl back once, her skin itself has been gelded into an armour of steel, Cersei’s contemptuous glare doesn’t even land a scratch.

Then the look vanishes, Cersei looks bewildered and lost somewhere over Brienne’s shoulders.

She turns to see Jaime’s back collapse against the door with a thud, his face ashen.

A lifetime back, she could have reached out for him. A lifetime back she could have cradled his face in her palms and softly soothe the lines away with her calloused, manly hands till colours flecked back to his cheeks.

 _Does it hurt you so that I have so ruthlessly uncovered the truth of our nights in Winterfell in front of your sister lover?_  
  
The one you left me for?

If Brienne felt a twinge of guilt for it, she pushed it aside. Joanna doesn’t deserve to be lied about.

Brienne looks away to Tyrion. The realm awaits larger concerns. Her broken heart hardly holds a candle to it.

“We have to let the King know. We have to write to Sansa.” Brienne forces her mind back to the task.

Her heart sinks thinking of Sansa. She is a true queen, she will not abandon her people in the hour of their need.

If a dragon flies back to Westeros, everyone in the seven kingdoms know which part of it will scorch first. If the North Remembers, so must Daenerys Targaryen.

“Yes. The King. Sansa… and Jon Snow.” Tyrion hangs his head and sighs.

Jon Snow, the man who shoved a knife through a mad monarch and saved Westeros, a man who shoved a knife through the heart of the woman he loved so that he can save the world from its doomed destiny.

He did what Jaime did once. He also did what Jaime never could.

_“After I found out about Tommen, the wildfire, Aerys, it all came back to me. For a while I wanted to kill her, I couldn’t.” Jaime had mumbled weepy into her shoulder one of those beautiful, wretched nights in the North._

Hard sacrifices make true heroes.

Fate’s cruelty truly knows no bounds, she thinks now, especially for heroes like Jon Snow.

She knows how it is when demons from the past are resurrected.

“We cannot openly talk about this in parchments. It will be too risky. If Daenerys is alive, and if she plans to come back, she must have made allies or is preparing to make so. Even a dragon isn’t enough to take back the kingdom alone.” Tyrion says, Brienne could feel he had already started turning the wheels back and forth in his mind.

“Dorne. Iron Islands.” She says.

Tyrion nods.

“I will go to Kings Landing.” She tells Tyrion. “Write to Sansa and ask her to sail for the capital at the soonest.”

She can feel Jaime’s eyes piercing through her back.

“Far be it from me to tell you to forsake your noble, self-sacrificing attitude, but you cannot, Joanna needs you.” Tyrion says sourly.

“She will come with me.” Brienne replies.

“Tyrion and I will go.” Jaime speaks, after what seems like an eternity. She looks at him.

“It was me who saw it… her. I should be the one telling the King.” He says.

“You _do_ know you can only speak of it if you have your head still attached to your shoulders once you set foot in the capital?” Tyrion thunders at Jaime.

“I am a dead man twice over Tyrion. I will beg for a pardon until the war. Even the Starks aren’t as daft to think that I will survive another war. I am to die one way or another. Let me beg for a chance to die with a sword in my hand.”

_Even with him dead for four years, the thought of him dying kills Brienne all over again._

“Have you gone mad brother? What of me?” Cersei who was suspiciously quiet all the while spits at them.

“It is your choice Cersei. You can sail back to Essos and pray to all the Seven Gods that Daenerys Targeryen doesn’t come for you first, you can come to Kings Landing and beg for your life or you can wait till someone recognizes you anyway, shoves a sword through you and calls it an act of justice. Your chances of survival are even ridiculously lesser than mine, we both know it.” Jaime replies noncommittally.

Brienne wonders who he is putting this Mummer’s act for when everyone in the room knows he will fall over his sword ten times over trying to save Cersei.

“This is what you brought me here for? To die?”

“Enough” Tyrion thumps his hand down on the oak table in front of him.

“Jaime and I will go to Kings Landing. Ser Brienne you are to remain in Casterly Rock with Joanna and Podrick. Cersei you can go fuck yourself thinking about the decisions you have made in your life. There. I have said it.” Tyrion addresses them turn by turn.

“With all due respect My Lord, do you expect me to sit out a war when I can still wield my sword? For I won’t. Lady Sansa needs me. Now more than ever.” Brienne rages at Tyrion.

“You are not her sworn sword anymore Brienne.” Tyrion tries to pacify her.

“That will not stop me from serving her. I swore an oath to her Mother.”

“And you are yourself a Mother now, Joanna…”

“Put your hand over your heart Tyrion and tell me if you believe that Daenerys will spare the legitimate heir to Casterly Rock if she wins? Tell me she won’t be charred bones and ashes like all of us anyway? Let me do what I can to protect her. To protect Sansa. Arya, wherever she is. Let me do my duty as a warrior and face the enemy in the battlefield honorably.” Brienne’s voice catches in her throat even speaking of it.

Jaime sharply releases a breath somewhere in the room.

Tyrion closes his eyes. And nods his head, once, then twice.

“How very moving Lady..? Ser Brienne. Tell me does your honor rest easy knowing you will send the two people who risked their lives to bring you this information to their deaths?” Cersei asks her, voice saccharine sweet.

“My Lady, take no offense but the crimes you have committed against the realm far outweigh this particular sacrifice you have made. But as you say, I am indeed honor bound to provide you temporary sanctuary at Casterly Rock should you choose to stay here. But kindly remember when and if the time comes that the crown asks you to appear for your trial, I will neither oppose it, nor stand in its way.” 

“Wait outside my chambers while I have words with Ser Brienne. Now.” Tyrion speaks.

Jaime swiftly exits the room. Cersei stands rooted to the spot, appraising both of them, and eventually walks away in a queenly gait.

“Do you mean to have us strangled in our sleep Ser Brienne?” Tyrion snaps at her.

“Would you rather have Cersei lurking around the castle or do you want her where we can keep our eyes on her? Any which way we are sailing for Kings Landing promptly with Joanna. I would never so much have her shadow fall on my daughter.” Brienne replies, terse.

Tyrion looks at her, “And you are fine with, Jaime and Cersei, staying here?” he gulps.

“Do I have a choice My Lord?”

“We need to talk, once, this is over, I can’t. Brienne…” Tyrion collapses on his chair.

Death is terribly heartbreaking for those who are left behind.

So are resurrections.

“We do. Not now. We cannot fall apart now Tyrion. There is…Jo…Please Tyrion. We need to make haste. We need to leave.”

Tyrion nods solemnly.

They go outside.

Jaime stands still against the wall. Cersei paces the corridors. Brienne walks up to her.

Tyrion rushes to call for guards.

“You both can take the guest chambers. We will have guards posted on your doors. I will say this once Lady Cersei, should anything untoward happen in the castle for the duration of your stay, I will behead you myself. Don’t mistake my honor for naivety.“ she tells Cersei as she towers over her.

“I am not a fool.” Cersei grits her teeth and then turns around to walk away in the direction Tyrion left.

For his part, Jaime keeps staring at her incredulously. Brienne wills herself to meet his eyes with her own.

It feels like her longing will swallow her whole, and for once she doesn’t know whether to curse him, weep her eyes out, draw her sword at him or kiss him hard, unrelenting.

Jaime takes her in from head to toes, all of her. His eyes linger on Oathkeeper, still at her waist, clutched in her fist.

For all that her skin is her armour, it still burns aflame under his gaze.

“Motherhood suits you, _Lady Lannister_.”, his voice chokes. His eyes are arrestingly luminous even in the dimly lit part of the hallway, luminous, dark and full of unshed tears.

“Ser Brienne” she hisses.

“As you say, _My Lady_ ” he smiles such an earnestly sad smile at that, she has no other option but to walk away in urgent strides.

Joanna. She needs to find Joanna.

She feels Jaime’s eyes boring into her back as she rushes away from him, like he once had to his death, in Winterfell, in the cover of the night, a lifetime ago.

Only he didn’t die. He lives.

_Jaime lives._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sail to Kings Landing.

“Apparently we were supposed to be inconspicuous” Brienne rolls her eyes at Tyrion’s back as the salty sea breeze of Lannisport displaces her already wind laden limp hair once more.

Lying low must mean a different thing to Lannisters than it does to most other people.

The ship they were destined to set off in was, like all things belonging to the Lannisters, too extravagant for her taste, and hence perfectly suited to Jo’s fancy. The little girl jumped up and down in joy, squealing and clapping her hands, and waving frantically at Pod who was busy in work getting their belongings aboard. Sometimes Brienne has a hard time believing he is an anointed knight and not the sweet faced lad she met when Jaime…

“We are supposed to keep _the motive_ of our journey inconspicuous, if we keep our journey subdued _that_ will raise more alarms. Why do I even try teaching you?” Tyrion jibes back.

She wouldn’t tell Joanna that her first voyage into the sea outside of Casterly Rock can very well be her last.

On the periphery of her vision, she could feel Jaime looking at her daughter, _their_ daughter really in all her excitable glory, a ghost of a smile lurking over his lips, as one looks at other people’s children from sidelines, wistfully, with foreign fondness, not their own.

“Come Jojo, us short people must stick together.” Tyrion makes a comment rather unthinkingly but innocently, extending his hands towards Jo, which in turn prompts both Jaime and herself to exchange an awkward glance with each other in alarm.

Tyrion notices and realizes his folly immediately.

Brienne feels compelled to ease his mind a bit. It has been easy for none of them.

“Jo, tell Lord Tyrion it is more than enough to expect he can take care of himself, let alone another short person.” She says as she scoops Joanna up in her arms.

Tyrion makes a face at her and turns around again.

Brienne carries her armor by herself. She didn’t feel right to let Podrick still run such squire jobs for her, and she simply doesn’t trust someone else to carry her armor and her sword with the delicateness they deserve.

Motherhood had also made her unused to wearing armor at all times. This one she had made for herself after Joanna was born. The one Jaime… the one before that still fits her perfectly, but she thought it prudent in her post birthbed panic to get one done again, just in case.

Oathkeeper, she had left it back at Casterly Rock.

As she bends to pick up her baggage of armor, Jaime reaches to it first with his left hand, picks it up in one swift motion, walks ahead and mounts the ship casually.

Brienne clenches her jaw.

Tyrion, most obviously uncomfortable at the exchange, moves to board next.

Inadvertently, he stumbles over. He had been drinking continuously for the past three days. She doesn’t even know whether he had gotten any sleep. Though in his defense, it is hard to tell Tyrion drunk from sober, so it scarcely mattered.

Jaime catches his brother’s hand instinctively.

There is a small pause there, in that familiar interaction, and her heart aches at it.

It is unfair of her to expect Tyrion to not melt at the sight of the brother who he has loved and who, has loved him back and shown him kindness throughout his life, alive in flesh and bones.

It is just that it she is loathe to admit to herself Tyrion is holding himself back from taking Jaime into his arms on her account.

Not that he is any less upset or raging as she is, but Jaime didn’t leave Tyrion for Cersei, at least not in the same way he left _her_ , and deep down she knows Tyrion feels he owes it to their friendship to hold himself back on behalf of her as well.

And what is a bond forged in grief in front of a bond of blood after all?

Also, it isn’t really his to share. Whatever they Jaime and she have shared, that part is only hers to mourn, it will always be.

She must converse with Tyrion, soon.

Brienne boards the ship Joanna in tow. The horns blare. Jaime hands over the sack of armor and sword to her. The moment freezes as their eyes meet.

She seethes in rage. He gives a shrug. Joanna cheers as the ship slowly steers away from the dock.

She looks back as they sail away from Casterly Rock, their home, all of theirs really, at different points of time.

She prays Cersei doesn’t bring the castle down while they are gone.

………

**Casterly Rock 3 Days Prior**

Once she has tasked Podrick with Joanna and her supper she had closed herself off in her rooms, clutched the bedsheet and howled into it till her tears have ran dry and her lungs ached.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, Joanna taking soft breaths in her sleep beside her, she tried to get a hold on herself.

Truth was, her traitor of a heart was involuntarily so ecstatic to see Jaime _, Jaime_ , alive and breathing and in front of her, the overwhelming joy, relief was the most painful thing she has ever endured. It only lasted so long. Jaime alive also brought all her wounds come to life once again, ones she had so tenuously let go of over all the years, they lay raw, open and bleeding into the day.

She felt untethered from her reality.

The reality was Jaime was Joanna’s father. And she has to tell her the truth because she owes her daughter that much.  
  
But what good will come of it if she knew him passingly only to lose him?

Brienne was a woman grown of four and 20 years and Jaime leaving her broke her in ways she didn’t know it was possible to break.

What would it do to a 4-year little child who has never known what a father’s love feels like?

But Jaime was here, and sooner or later she has to give Joanna her answers.

And what would that be?

Who was Jaime?

The man who threw ten-year-old boys from towers in Winterfell? The one who jumps into a bear pit unarmed to save a woman from the enemy camp he barely knew? The one who betrayed the realm over and over again in pursuit of an incestuous and tumultuous illicit relationship with his sister? Or the one who left the love of his life to fight against the greater danger? The man who broke an oath to save a city and wore a disgraceful moniker arrogantly as a badge of honor? Or the one who had traced a million dreams with his fingers in the expanse of her back and then left her to die with his sister?

Jaime was too many men at once to explain to Joanna who he really was.

Sometimes she doesn’t even know who he is.

 _Someone honorable,_ the night whispers to her.

Sleep is a long time coming.

**Present**

For all they have been born beside the sea, it doesn’t suit the Lannisters at all. Tyrion, Jaime, and Joanna all fall sick within the first few days of the journey, one after the other.

“I hate the sea,” Joanna says, clutching on to Brienne’s shoulder, watching the blue-green water rippling along the blunt edges of the ship, strands of her beautiful golden hair rhythmically blowing in the breeze.

_“I love the sea.” Joanna has said from when she had learned to speak, every time she has laid her eyes on the Sunset Sea, which has been every single day of her life._

Brienne hopes her flippancy is just courtesy her age and not her imbibed Lannister traits.

_“I love the sea” Jaime had said, naked in their bed in Winterfell, talking about faraway lands, talking of home, Tarth and Casterly Rock._

Jaime comes to stand on the deck as well after some time has passed, keeps a respectable distance, and furtively steals a glance or two at them.

Brienne pretends he is not there until he mutters something in the air.

 _“I hate the sea.”_ He says, softly.

For a moment, she stands still, waves crashing deafeningly in her ears, and then carries Joanna inside much to her protests and pleadings. Jaime’s eyes follow.

……..

**Casterly Rock | 2 Days Prior**

It was a decision on her part that she would not flee from corner to corner in her own home, in Casterly Rock, because of Jaime and Cersei. Though they were instructed to keep to their rooms as much as possible, Brienne has prepared herself completely for running into them once or twice.

She has bore a lot on their account. It is not _her_ that needs to avoid them.

Perhaps the twins shared the same sentiment because she had scarcely spotted them. She hasn’t at all, for a matter of fact, it is _uncanny_.

She chides herself for her curiosity.

The mere times she has gone to visit Tyrion, he has been way too into his cups.

She didn’t know where to start a conversation, and surprisingly so hasn’t Tyrion. All they have formerly discussed is their departure to Kings Landing, and the urgent sorting of matters at hand since they would be gone indefinitely.

But luck only runs so far for her as one of the maids tell her that the Lady Cersei has requested an audience with her.

If Brienne is surprised at not finding Jaime or any proof of his presence inside Cersei’s chambers, she doesn’t show.

Cersei has managed to dress herself in a resplendent crimson and gold gown that fits her shape, bones still jut out of her pearl white knuckles, but she is nothing short of a gilded goddess now, ten years younger than the day before at once.

_She looks like the Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock should._

“Ser Brienne, how very generous of you to grant me an audience.” Cersei flashes her a gratifying smile that lights up her entire face.

Brienne doesn’t respond, only waiting for her to get on.

“I just wanted to see you…to see if…” she feigns fumbling over the words with such aplomb that Brienne thinks she ought to stop her right there and congratulate her on her performance.

If there is someone who always knows exactly what she wants ( and how to get it) it is Cersei. This much Brienne has learned, sometimes the hard way.

“Can I meet my niece for a moment? You will be leaving for Kings Landing day after tomorrow. I don’t know when I will see her again, if at all. It’s just that…” her eyes glisten, her cheek twitches, “She looks so like Myrcella. A request from a mother to another.”

“Lady Cersei, I understand. As a mother. And it is as a Mother myself, I must refuse. I hope _you_ understand why.” Brienne replies to her politely.

Resentment flashes in her eyes for a second, but then it is as swiftly replaced by distant amusement.

“You think I would harm her?” her demeanor shifts in a moment, timidity and docility set aside ruthlessly for regality and ferocity.

“I simply don’t wish to find out.” Brienne replies.

“She is a Lannister. She is my family. I have never harmed a Lannister in my life, ask my wretched monstrous brother how many times I have spared his life when I could have killed him. And if kinslaying is your concern you should keep him away from _him_ , not me.” Cersei sneers.

“You had falsely accused him of a crime he didn’t commit. You meant him to die. The fact that he didn’t was due to other circumstances, not your genorisity.”

“I thought he killed my son” Cersei shouts as much one can shout in a soft voice.

Then she takes a breath, composes herself.

Every moment spent in vicinity of Cersei is a test of endurance for Brienne.

But endure she has. And endure she must. For her daughter.

Cersei perches on the bed at her room. Her head bowed down.

“Motherhood is all consuming Lady Brienne. I don’t fault you for trying to protect your child, even if it is from me.” She says, once again the very picture of softness.

“I don’t wish to harm her.” Cersei says, “And I don’t wish any mother to suffer what I have.”

“Lady Cersei, I am sorry to disappoint you. If it was up to me I would never so much have you breathe in the same space as Joanna. So you must understand why I refuse to grant you an audience with her.”

Cersei stares at her, and then she laughs.

“You are an honest woman Ser Brienne. Why would you lie about her parentage?” she says, mirth gleaming in her eyes, but she can feel the fear lingering underneath.

It is then that she realizes, that Jaime lying with another is foreign tongue to her, and it is reassurance she sought through this Mummer’s act.

“I did not, My Lady. As you yourself said, it is nigh impossible for me and Lord Tyrion to conceive such a beautiful child, as beautiful as you are.”

Brienne imagines Tyrion clapping her shoulders at that, proud and conceited, that he has managed to finally teach her at least a semblance of Lannister conversations, which is all but hitting each other with words.

“Did Ser Jaime deny any involvement with me?” she presses on.

For a second Cersei looks utterly defeated. Then she narrows her eyes and strikes back.

“Jaime and I don’t discuss frivolous gossip and other women in our bed.” She gently pats the space beside her, wistful.

Brienne bites into her cheek, her nails digging into her palms and says, “Then we all must believe what we ought to” and turns on her heels, never looking back.

**Present Day**

“How is Joanna?” Tyrion asks her, spread out on the bed of his cabin in the ship, his weight supported by a pillow at his back, his form still weak from all the sea sickness.

“She is doing a lot better now, a lot better than you in the least.” Brienne says.

“ _Everybody_ is doing better than me at this point I suppose” as he gestures to his limp body.

Brienne only narrows her eyes.

Tyrion hesitates, “Are they not?”

“You really ought to talk to _everybody_ for that reassurance. I haven’t spotted _everybody_ on the deck today.”  
  
Tyrion looks chastised, guilt hovering over his features.

“Tyrion. He is your brother by blood. I will not treat it as treason should you talk to your own brother, as concerned as you are for him. I will not hold you back from… from anything really on my behalf. You are itching to reconcile with him. You have to stop being a child about it.” Brienne says in one breath.

“I hate him.” Tyrion protests, petulantly like a child, “I don’t want anything to do with him.I don’t care whether the dolt lives or dies here, retching his guts out in the middle of the sea” He tries to reassure himself.

Talking to Lannisters is more exhausting than dealing with a horde of enemies on the battlefield, Brienne thinks.

“You know that’s not the truth. As do I. Put yourself out of your own misery and act like a grown up.” Brienne says impatiently.

Tyrion opens his mouth to protest at once, then he closes it, takes a deep breath.

“Would you ever forgive him?” he asks after a few heartbeat passes, softly, quietly, more to himself than to her, but she hears him nonetheless, as she hears the unspoken plea in the garb of a question.

Brienne leaves the cabin.

**Casterly Rock | Night before Journey**

Brienne waits for Jaime to arrive at the courtyard under the moonlit sky. She feels agitated, pacing from end to end, sweaty in a balmy summer night.

She hears footsteps approaching, steadying herself. Two house guards accompany a visibly surprised Jaime to her. She nods at them to step aside.

“ _Lady Lannister_ ” he fights to keep the tension of his voice, trying to attempt at a cavalier tone.

“Ser Jaime” she replies in a stoic manner, refusing to take the bait, but a shimmer of the moonlight catches on a rare golden strand of his hair, and for a moment she is so stricken by the devastating beauty of this man, even worn and weary as he still is opposed to Cersei, her heart leaps from her chest and constricts her throat and she loses her grip on the situation entirely.

Jaime’s throat bobs. Eyes gleaming at her face

“Ser Jaime, it is my duty to inform you that you have the choice of remaining here while Lord Tyrion and I go to Kings Landing and handle everything. You don’t have to feel compelled to accompany us there. You can stay here… protecting… You can stay here with your sister. “

Jaime’s jaw hardens. His eyes narrow at her.

“What I am trying to say is” Brienne struggles, “There is a possibility that it might not be entirely safe for you, given the sentiment of people, who remember how it was to be ruled by a Lannister. Though the King has been very lenient with his sentences…”

“You are trying to tell me that I might lose my head should I go to the capital. I know that. I am still going. Is that all _Lady Lannister_?” Jaime interrupts her, impatience laced in his voice.

It infuriates Brienne. She struggles to maintain her composure.

“I am not _Lady Lannister_.” She grits her teeth.

“You are the Lady Wife to the Lord of Casterly Rock. You _are_ Lady Lannister. Or would you rather have me address you as _goodsister_?” Jaime drops his pretence at casual nonchalance entirely and sneers at her.

“It is Ser Brienne, do you remember or have you chosen to forsake every memory pertaining to Winterfell?” Brienne sneers back, surprised at how hurt she sounds.

_It was so hard to pretend anyway._

Jaime flinches.

“That was extremely unbecoming of me. I apologise for my words.” He lowers his gaze, takes a deep breath and whispers.

“Your apology means nothing to me.”

“As it shouldn’t rightfully. I apologise nonetheless, Ser Brienne.” He says and looks into her eyes again, eyes solemn.

“Ser, you don’t have to go risk your life to compensate for whatever you think you are compensating for. You can stay here with Cersei.” Brienne states what she actually wanted to for so long.

She thinks she imagines the hurt at Jaime’s face at that.

Then he chuckles, “I thought _you_ wanted me dead.”

“I don’t.” Brienne blurts out alarmingly fast.

Jaime’s face softens, he looks like he is pain. “No. Of course you don’t.” he looks at the sky above.

“I would rather go. I want to.” He says after some time. “ I would rather…”

“Die with a sword in your hands.” Brienne completes the sentence for him. He looks at her strangely at that once more.

This much Brienne understands, if nothing else, the urge of a warrior to die fighting, and whatever it was, Jaime has always been a warrior at heart. He has chosen a death in the battlefield over the women… the _woman_ he loved, more than once.

“Very well Ser. It’s your decision. You know Lord Tyrion will try his best to keep you from any harm.” Brienne nods at him, suddenly wanting to flee. It was dangerous to stay around Jaime for longer than necessary. Even after all, he makes her feel... It’s an unsafe thought.

“Brienne…” Jaime steps closer as she starts to walk away.

Her heart stops at hearing him say her name so reverently once more, another thing she never thought she would experience again, another thing she has mourned for nights, for years.

“Shall I die in Kings Landing, I just want you to know that…that I am glad I got to see you once more before that. “ his voice sounds unsteady, “you… and Joanna.” He chokes out.

A sharp pains lances through Brienne’s middle at that. She leaves him there, shivering on a humid night under the pale moonlight.

**Present**

Brienne tosses in her bed inside the ostentatious cabin that has been assigned to her on the ship. They are to reach Kings Landing on the morrow. It unsettles her.

She looks at Joanna, who still sleeps soundly beside her. She has recovered in a few days.

The cabin beside her belongs to Joanna’s nurse. She had never had one, prior to this. Her maids at Casterly Rock sufficed to any assistance she needed with the child. But Kings Landing entailed a looming war. And a looming war entailed that she would much rather have someone watch over Joanna when she couldn’t.

She feels guilty as she knocks on the door in the middle of the night. The nurse, clearly sleepy, gets her wits about herself fairly fast when she requests her to watch over Jo while she gets some air.

There are two guards posted on duty outside her cabin. They nod to her as she steps into the deck. The night sea breeze calms her nerves at once but then she spots Jaime leaning over the rail, still as a statue, looking out at the sea.

She steps to stand beside him, not knowing why.

He looks at her, caught unaware by her sudden presence. He looks terrible, hollows below his eyes deepened.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, as always obligated to fill silences.

“You are faring better?” she ignores his question.

“No. Can’t sleep.” Jaime says.

She nods.

“If you are worried about tomorrow...”

“I am not worried about tomorrow.” Jaime interrupts her, “I am worried about surviving until tomorrow morning. I _hate the sea_.”

Unbidden, a giggle escapes her before she can control it. She is mortified as she brings her hands to her lips in shock.

Jaime looks aghast at her, eyes afire in a second. The tension leaves his shoulder after a moment. Then he flashes a genuine smile at her, but his eyes remain sad.

Her heart almost melts at the sight so she forces herself to look to the sea. So does he.

“You should talk to Lord Tyrion.” She breaks the silence this time.

“About?”

“He has missed you.”

No one speaks for a while.

“As have I.” Jaime says resigned, voice laced with longing and pain.

“Ser Jaime” Brienne says, suddenly serious, but this discussion needs to be made, “It is my duty to my daughter to tell her about you. Preferably before we reach the Red Keep. I am afraid I won’t be able to keep her from court gossip for long.”

She can feel him come to a still beside her.

“I don’t expect you to do any fatherly duties by her. But I owe her the truth.”

“Doesn’t she know Tyrion to be her father?” Jaime says much too fast, tense, and terse.

“She knows Lord Tyrion isn’t her father. “ her tone is clipped.

It shouldn’t hurt her that Jaime thinks she would lie to their daughter about her parentage to protect her, but it does.

Jaime’s breathing turn shallow.

“Does she hate me?” he sounds on the brink of tears.

Brienne can’t help but look at him then and see him for what he is, a broken man.

It shouldn’t make her want desperately to reach out for him, but it does.

Brienne firmly keeps her hands by her sides.

“She doesn’t. She…She loves you. She has grown up on stories of her golden knight of a father, riding into the sun, saving the world from its miseries.” Brienne replies way too soft, her voice way too vulnerable for her own liking.

Jaime turns to face her sharply in response, she doesn’t imagine the tears pooling in his eyes this time, it’s too obviously there, threatening to spill.

“Brienne…” he says, voice heavy. He reaches out for her hand with his good one.

“Don’t” she flinches away. She herself sounds embarrassingly weepy.

He clenches his fist mid-air. His eyes closed.

He composes himself.

“She’s your daughter. You can tell her whatever you deem fit. I wouldn’t interfere. I would do whatever you would have me do. ” He replies after a moment, voice devoid of any emotion, looking blankly at the sea.

They stand there in silence till the sun rises on the horizon, the red keep looming larger than she would like in the distance.

……

_For a long time, Jaime Lannister hasn’t known what he has possibly done to be blessed with Brienne of Tarth’s trust in his cursed life. But knowing her has also been a curse, he realizes now. Seeing her everyday with their daughter, the longing and the grief of a life that could have been passing him by one day at a time as he can do nothing but stare at the face of the consequences of his own decisions, feels like a sword has been lodged into his guts and left there permanently. But standing on the deck beside her now, unable to reach out for her, being completely undeserving to touch her, her, the woman he loves, the mother of his child, breaks him in a way nothing ever has, even galloping away from Winterfell feels less harder._

_Yes, penance is expensive, he thinks. But, if this is the price he would have to pay for leaving her, he would bear it until it finally kills him._

__

_After all, a Lannister always pays his debts._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right now, Lady Sansa leans a bit forward in her chair, again a minor shift that seemed nothing less than a large, consummate movement in the eerily quiet Small Council Chamber and addresses Tyrion, “My Lord, pardon my lack of manners, but I might be of the opinion that whatever you are going to say is not only entirely predictable but also alarmingly treasonous. As intense and heartwarming your propensity to save your siblings who have wronged the realm countless times is, I am afraid you are going to have to come up with something entirely amusing to sway me to your cause. Your brevity is as fast fading as the golden locks in your hair My Lord, forgive me for my candor. I would rather you would not depend on your verbal charms to get out of this situation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to everyone who have asked me about this, Sorry for the long break, but hey, its back.

Both Tyrion and Brienne knew who they would exactly be appealing to for Jaime’s pardon, it was certainly not the King.

As Tyrion braced himself to start what Brienne thought must be a most impassioned speech in his most impassioned voice, Sansa Stark stopped him with a slight gesture of her hand that would be almost imperceptible to notice except everyone had their eyes on her only, in anticipation, as predictable as it was. It was just _another_ one of those things Lady Sansa was so effortlessly graceful at. Every man in the room was as much fascinated by Lady Sansa’s ethereal beauty as they were intimidated by the steel in her spine, Brienne realized as her gaze swept over the faces. She, herself is rather no exception.

Lady Sansa was not cut out of the same gilded cloth that the Lannister twins were. She was a great beauty, yes, but Brienne had seen roses bloom in Margaery Tyrell’s eyes and seen the moon spun silver fire in Daenerys Targaryen’s hair. But there is something so captivating about Lady Sansa that is not just the red of her hair or the blue of her eyes, the poise with which she wears her aggrieved alabaster skin, Brienne thinks, that nobody can help but be a little awed and a little in love with her.

Right now, Lady Sansa leans a bit forward in her chair, again a minor shift that seemed nothing less than a large, consummate movement in the eerily quiet Small Council Chamber and addresses Tyrion, “My Lord, pardon my lack of manners, but I might be of the opinion that whatever you are going to say is not only entirely predictable but also alarmingly treasonous. As intense and heartwarming your propensity to save your siblings who have wronged the realm countless times is, I am afraid you are going to have to come up with something entirely amusing to sway me to your cause. Your brevity is as fast fading as the golden locks in your hair My Lord, forgive me for my candor. I would rather you would not depend on your verbal charms to get out of this situation.”

And Tyrion is stunned into silence.

The room remained as silent as it was, only Brienne’s heartbeat thumping in her ears, her hands going cold. Jaime’s face remained unaccountably passive.

And then, Ser Bronn broke into raucous laughter, almost falling from his chair.

He clapped Tyrion on the shoulder, “Didn’t she just hand out your arse to ya? Nothing like it when someone makes these wordy Lannister cunts shut up.”, he bellowed out, interrupted by peals of laughter.

The tension in the room hovered between tight and amusing.

Ser Davos, the Hand of the King, took a throaty cough and whispered something in the King’s ear, who Brienne thought, nobody actually noticed or paid any unfocussed attention to, as still as he sat like a statue amalgamated with the background.

“Ser Jaime is here for a reason.” The boy king’s dry but resonating voice sucked the lingering mirth out of the room.

Sansa turned to him.

“You knew about him?” her mask came undone for a moment, a face of feral rage unleashed.

“Yes” he replied definitively, looking and not looking at Sansa at the same time.

Sansa stared at him for a heartbeat, then her placid mask fell into place and she looked at Jaime, hard.

“Ser Jaime?” Bran’s voice rang across the room.

“Your Grace”, Jaime replied. Brienne thought she mistook the deference in his voice, so earnest it was. But then she remembered who he was addressing.

_“I threw a 10 year old boy out of the tower window, For Cersei.”_

Brienne forced her mind elsewhere.

Bran looked at Jaime questioningly, and the tale of Daenerys Targaryen’s survival followed.

“Can you tell us if this is true?” Sansa turned to Bran again.

“It is true.”

Sansa stood from her chair abruptly.

“Then we have no time to waste Your Grace, My Lords, I would like to return North as soon as possible. We all know she will come to Winterfell first, for Winterfell, rather.”

“My Lady” Brienne calls for her and then blanches at the incorrect use of title, she’s not her lady anymore.

She could feel Tyrion squirming in unease even from the opposite end in the room, Sansa doesn’t even spare them a look as she continues.

“What is to be done with Jaime and Cersei Lannister, _Your Grace_ , if I may ask?” her voice had gone from cold to colder.

Brienne can hear the heartbeats drum against her ear.

“Jaime Lannister has risked his life to intimidate us against the war to come. He was previously pardoned for his sins by the Dragon Queen. And, he has a role to play.” Bran says.

Brienne gulps back the sigh of relief that threatened to escape her.

Jaime nodded his head at Bran in acknowledgement, as did Tyrion.

“Then there is nothing left to discuss.” Sansa turned around to leave the chamber, dainty skirts swishing across the marble floor.

Tyrion meets her eyes over the table. Equal bits wary and relieved at once.

“Any news of Jon Snow?” He asks Ser Davos who nods his head from side to side in disappointment.

Tyrion tries to hide his own dismay.

Brienne doesn’t know the content of the raven he had sent to Castle Black, neither does she know the relationship he and Jon Snow shared. All she knows that he had reverently spoken of Jon Snow more times than he ought to when he fell to his cups, and stopped abruptly, as if nursing a secret. War makes for strange companions, and even stranger fondness for the strange companions. The image of a brown haired girl of fifteen flashed in front of her eyes, her grey eyes as sharp as the sword she wielded.

She ought to pray for her safety, for her to stay as far as possible from the looming war, but all she suddenly longed for was for the girl to walk out from the shadows into the very room.

With Arya Stark on their side, even a Dragon is not invincible.

“He will come, when he has to. We must reconvene on the morrow and plan for further actions. I must take your leaves now My Lords.” The King spoke again.

The room was on their feet while a new Kingsguard Brienne was unfamiliar with pushed Bran out of the room.

……

Lady Sansa stands on the rails of the balcony that faced the sea. Her auburn hair swaying prettily in the soft sea breeze.

“My Queen” Brienne says.

She doesn’t turn to acknowledge her ungraceful curtsey.

“It’s not that I have any personal vendetta against him.” Sansa surprisingly breaks the silence, “Except for the obvious of course, but that is so long ago I cannot even remember who I am avenging anymore. It hurts that Father is dead, Mother is dead, Robb…” Brienne catches a slight affliction in her voice “He is not directly responsible for them. That I know. They are dead. So are the rest. Only Cersei lives.”

_Cersei lives._

There she was, Cersei Lannister, immortal, for all she was made of skin, bones, meat and sinew like the rest of them. Haunting all of them, dead or alive. A legend. A horror. A woman she never held a sword against, but still was defeated by. She had bruises in her heart to show for it.

Brienne shook it off before she could hear a sober and sorrowful utterance of “ _For Cersei_ ” in her ears.

Sometimes she could hear it in Cersei’s honeyed voice, mocking at her, not Jaime’s.

“But it’s not that. Jaime is not… not Cersei. Even my blind grudge wouldn’t morph it to that.”  
  
Brienne is stunned at this admission by Sansa.

“It is just that, he hurt you. He hurt Tyrion. I didn’t. But when it comes to a choice, it will be him over me. “there decidedly was a despondence in her tone, a vulnerability Brienne always sought in her lady only to make sure she was who she was beneath all those haughty glances and practiced movements, yet now she finds that she was well without it.

“Your Grace, Lady Sansa” Brienne fumbles over her words, not unusual, but she is hit hard and fast by the truth of the statement.

She knows what it is to not being chosen, every single day.

“My brother chose his kingdom over me, and then a woman who has only just met over that Kingdom. It doesn’t bode well to speak ill of the dead, I am aware. But what of the living, Lady Brienne? What of Jon? What of Arya? What of Lord Tyrion and all his words that amount to nothing? What of _you_ , My Lady?”

Brienne mumbles, softly, “Jon Snow chose you. He chose you over the woman he loved. He knew the consequences… and he made a choice. He chose Westeros, but he chose you and Lady Arya. Your lives over his love.”

Sansa huffs out a small, sad laugh.

“And he left me so that he didn’t have to look at my face and live with that choice”

Silence ensues. Sansa speaks again.

“I will be leaving for Winterfell in two days My Lady, it would be so kind of you to send Joanna over at any time of convenience if it would please you. I would want to spend some time with her before I left.”

A firm dismissal.

Brienne leaves.

….

Reckoning comes for Joanna before it is supposed to.

It was just that she was running around the corners and alleyways inside the castle Brienne has never explored, still not completely rebuilt for the mess it has been, and even more so the dungeons beneath the Red Keep.

But Jaime’s death is far from her mind when Joanna takes an unthinking turn, and rushes towards the dungeons, dimly lit by lanterns, hubris still lying around, Baelerion the Dread’s massacred skull gathered in a solemn heap at a corner.

Brienne ignores the place and follows Joanna’s childish footsteps into the dark.

There is a sharp sound of a clash ahead of a pillar and her heart stops.

“Oh, You!” Joanna says from far ahead.

“ _Yes, me.”_ Jaime’s unmistakable voice replies.

Brienne stops, feet frozen.

“Don’t tell Mama I am over here” Joanna whispers conspiratorially.

She hears Jaime’s sharp intake of breath.

“You shouldn’t be here… _My Lady._ It’s not safe.”

“Shh. Stop talking.” Joanna admonishes him but clearly decides against it the next moment, much to Brienne’s dismay.

“What’s your name?” Joanna asks him.

Brienne’s heartbeat fastens. She moves ahead in the dark. The outline of Jaime and Joanna huddled against another pillar clear to her in the low yellow light.

“ _Jaime, My name is Jaime_ ” he replies soft, tender.

Brienne stops. She can see them from here. See Jaime’s wobbling chin even from this part. See Joanna’s eyes widen as she takes him in.

Enough.

“Joanna, come on, it’s time for supper” she tries to sound calm and fails at it.

Jaime turns towards her sharply. Realisations draw over his face when he looks at her, he is alarmed.

Joanna takes a bit more time. But when she does, Brienne can already see the questions brimming out of her gaze.

But her daughter says nothing. Only hops over to her obediently, hands outstretched. She takes it.

 _She is very clever. Very, very clever. She knows much more than she lets on._ She remembers Tyrion telling her once, back at Casterly Rock.

She barely gives Jaime a nod as she leaves, shaken.

…..

“Is he.. Jaime.. is he Father?” Joanna asks into the night.

  
Brienne’s breath hitches in her throat.

Not so long ago, she had been making Joanna understand the importance of being integrally honest.

She didn’t know it would turn so soon in her disfavor.

“Yes” Brienne replies.

“Are you fighting?”

“People cannot know he is alive. There are certain.. bad men.. after him.” Brienne answers a different question desperately wishing for Tyrion to magically appear.

“They cannot know he is your father.”

“I know.” Joanna replies, quiet.

“Mama.”

“Jo”

Joanna draws close to her and puts her little arms around her torso tight and buries herself against Brienne, her face squashed against Brienne’s teats.

She can only tighten her arms in response as tears wet her pillow.

As morning comes, Jo doesn’t ask any more questions.

When Jaime passes them on his way to the Small Council Chamber, he nods his head at both of them in courtly greeting.

“Ser Brienne” he says, and then looks at Jo, something heavy hovering in his gaze, “Lady Joanna”

“Ser Jaime” Jo says, without skipping a beat and nods her head like the lady Brienne had never been.

Jaime’s composure fades for a second, as he turns his gaze towards her, in askance, Brienne holds the gaze for once.

She isn’t sure if she feels agonized or vindicated.

…….

It isn’t war yet.

She thinks it would be. She waits it in fear, anxious and tensed.

But everyday comes and goes, meetings after meetings take place, the King remains effusive and elusive, and it’s not war.

Lady Sansa doesn’t go back as yet when her brother commands her to stay behind for reasons he cannot confer.

She never quite does look Brienne in the eye.

Lord Tyrion seems to have fallen out of Sansa’s favour entirely.

Strategy upon strategy is worked on. But they don’t quite know what strategy would keep a fire breathing monster from charring them alive within seconds.

She doesn’t see Jaime much after the incident in the crypts.

Joanna doesn’t ask much of him either, only looks at him curiously with those green, beady eyes.

“I look like him.” She mentions to Brienne one day, when she passes a mirror.

“You do.” Brienne replies.

“I will tell Tyrion tomorrow I am prettier than him. He says I am not.” She says then, quickly and thankfully abandoning the other trail of conversation.

“Yes. Please put your rogue Lord Uncle in his place.” Brienne humours her as she draws her daughter closer.

Jo chuckles, so like Jaime.

_Mine._

She thinks desperately. Jaime had Brienne. But Joanna, for as long as Brienne would live, would be hers and hers alone, entirely.

It’s strange to think about, what a precious gift Jaime had unknowingly bestowed upon her when he left her hurt and wounded and bleeding on that night.

A daughter to call her own.

What does a sword compare to it?

Nothing, she knows, when a sellsword holds a knife to Joanna’s throat seven days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm. Really Sorry for the cliffhanger, But I promise this is happy ending, also, I am really trying to come up with the chapter faster now that I am posting again. Also I am really behind in replying to comments in the earlier chapters, should be done to the soonest. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language.  
> This fic is Unbeta'ed.


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